O Captain, My Captain
by Ashii78
Summary: Five time Piers was jealous and one time he didn't have to be. One-shot. Nivanfield.


Piers was suited up and treading against the flow of lunchtime traffic at a BSAA training facility in South Carolina when he was first introduced to _the _Jill Valentine. His intention was to get in a little extra practice on his rifle while everyone else is away, but a hand caught his shoulder in the hallway and the weight is familiar enough that he doesn't just brush it off dismissively. He knew it was his captain even before he turned, though his smile faltered slightly at the sight of the woman standing at Chris Redfield's side.

"Piers," Chris acknowledged, and he paused long enough to await the reply that was customary of this particular recruit, a habitual and earnest "Captain" in the brief silence, before he gestured to his unnamed companion. "I want you to meet a friend of mine. Jill Valentine, this is Piers Nivans, a freshly recruited sniper assigned under the BSAA's North American Special Operations Unit - 'The man who never misses a target.'"

Jill's smile was genuine and her grip, surprisingly firm as she took hold of his hand, "Apparently he doesn't think as highly of himself." She nodded at his attire, the way he was geared up and making his way straight to the vacant shooting range. "Skipping out on lunch?"

There was a note of a teasing nature in her tone, whether it was intentional or not, and he felt as though he was being called out on a misbehavior and not on his devotion to his marksmanship. He heard but didn't see Chris laugh, far too preoccupied studying the nearby wall, inexplicably abashed.

Chris' hand fell on his shoulder again and, mortifyingly enough, he jumped.

"Head back in and get something to eat," His captain advised, dropping the hand. "Jill and I are going that way now; join us once you pack away your gear."

If the offer had been extended from his captain alone, he probably wouldn't have hesitated before nodding, "Yes, sir."

Piers did not, in fact, join them after getting his lunch, but instead sat himself down at a table in the far corner of the hall, filled with some men he knew and some he didn't. He had resolved to, at first, but seeing his captain sitting at one of the center tables with Jill, seeing Chris smile as they carried on a conversation that couldn't be heard above the roar of the others in the hall, he couldn't bring himself to in the end. It felt too much like an intrusion of an unspoken intimacy – he'd heard from his captain before that he'd known Jill for more than a decade now – and he wanted no part of that.

He didn't eat much and the sudden influx of rumors involving the potentiality of a relationship existing between them that was more than platonic had Piers wishing he'd left for the shooting range anyway. Most of the men encompassing Piers boasted as though this relationship were already true. For them, Jill was not only kind, but a knockout and perhaps that was their way, living vicariously through their captain.

Piers, for his part, was able to grin and endure most of it, aside from the instance he was called out on absentmindedly driving a plastic fork into his thigh. Any ensuing inquiries from his fellow soldiers he chose to ignore when he finally placed the utensil back on the table.

Jill Valentine was not a bad person, and he would only meet her face to face that one time, but he still maintained a silent and unreasonable disinclination to even the slightest mention of her from that day forth.

* * *

Chris Redfield was the kind of captain who treated everyone on his team as if they were a member of his family, looking after them from a respectable distance, scolding them when misbehavior warranted it, and taking pride in their achievements. Piers admired him for these things, and so much more, thriving under his captain's attention while he was a fresh recruit.

Chris always paid each new member of the team particularly close attention. It was his way to make certain they felt welcome in their new family, a family where watching each other's back was most essential to their survival.

A few years since Piers had known Chris, and a few recruits integrated into their SOU family, he had never once felt a distinct resentment for any newly assigned soldier – not until, at least, Finn Macauley was introduced to their squad.

To be fair, Piers didn't initially have such an opinion of him. Finn was a quiet soldier, but an ace explosives expert, and he was a nice guy. He had no reason to dislike him.

He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that his patience was put to the test, but knew it had something to do with Finn's first few weeks on the team. Chris kept an eye on him, ever the dutiful captain, and even asked Piers to every once and awhile. It was to be expected and, honestly, he was honored that his captain considered him trustworthy enough to carry out the task.

Finn's adoration for Chris, however, grated on his nerves and so did the fact that nothing was done to discourage it.

"Is he always this awesome?" Finn's timid voice was filled with awe as he watched their captain walk off after a notably 'inspiring' speech about their assignment in Edonia. At the time, Piers only rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up with the rest of the unit, but later he hadn't managed to avoid Finn's twenty questions concerning their beloved captain.

He tried like hell to be even-tempered, regrets not trying harder after Finn's demise later down the road, but Finn was persistent and every single inquiry had Piers realizing just how little he knew about Chris, even after two years. He didn't quite snap, no, but he made his aggravation obvious on numerous occasions to the point that Finn finally caught on.

Chris left them after their mission in Edonia and Piers spent six months searching for him, wondering if there was anything he could have done to make their captain stay.

* * *

"Nice shot, Alfonso!"

Piers peered out the crumbling window of a dilapidated stone building on a street front in Edonia just in time to see the mutated J'avo sink to his knees, head blown clean off by Carl Alfonso's well-placed bullet, the submachine gun it had been wielding clanking to the ground. Silence filled the surrounding area, save for the distant sounds of gunfire, and Chris stepped out from behind his cover to clap Alfonso on the back.

"They almost had me," He conceded, glancing to the J'avo's abandoned weapon and then back to his woefully empty Nine-Oh-Nine. He smiled in Alfonso's direction one final time. "Thanks for having my back."

Whatever Alfonso responded with, Piers didn't quite hear. He ran from his own cover, tugging free a clip of handgun ammo from his side pockets.

"Captain!" He shouted, offering up the clip when he was within distance, slowing to a stop. "Here, I've got plenty."

Chris accepted the proffered ammo with a grateful nod, "Thank you, Piers."

He only nodded absentmindedly in reply, breathing heavy, adrenaline high as he assessed the rooftops nearby. He was, in no way, seeking out another opportunity – a wandering J'avo creating favorable circumstances for an impressive shot – to hear his captain's praises.

* * *

Piers wanted to respect the decision Chris made to tell Jake Muller that he was the one who killed Albert Wesker, except that goes far from well when Jake ends up pulling a gun on his captain with no intentions of putting it down.

Piers instantly raised his own weapon, his finger flexing on the trigger, ready to place a shot straight through Jake Muller's skull at even the slightest notion that he'll shoot first, "Chris!"

"You better put a leash on that puppy," Jake's voice is smooth, belying the anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his words. Chris' eyes never leave him, the son of Wesker, as he extends a placating hand and states, "This is between me and him."

Piers had never been so reluctant to obey an order, but he does, pulling his weapon down to his side with a degree of difficulty and scowling. He's ready to fire at the drop of a pin; all he needs is that confirmation in his captain's eyes.

Chris didn't look at him, though, as he approached Jake, close enough that the barrel of Jake's gun is an inch from his face. It frustrated Piers, igniting the spark on his short temper. Chris isn't looking at him and yet he's never been so focused, staring past a gun that could spell his demise, staring unfaltering at Jake.

"Put your gun down!" Piers demanded, the barrel of his own weapon hoisted in the air once more, poised to defend his captain. "Now!"

Chris still doesn't turn his way and Jake doesn't budge, the words of their conversations blur together and, at this point, Piers is relying on body language, on raised and agitated tones to tell him when to act. He can't take it, and chips in after Sherry is through pleading.

"I'm giving you three seconds before I'm putting a bullet in your head!" Sherry entreated Jake to put his weapon down, Piers can hear the rapid pulsation of his heart in his ear. Jake looked ready to fire, "Put your weapon down!"

Jake didn't listen and the sound of the weapon's discharge echoed endlessly off the metal walls of the base's lift. Piers felt all of his breath leave him, his heart stop, until he saw his captain standing there, unharmed aside from a cut along his left cheek.

"There are more important things at stake than you and me." Jake relented in the tense silence and the world around them began to shake. Piers lowered his weapon, his finger relaxing on the trigger.

"We gotta go."

"Jake!" Sherry beseeched and he didn't even glance her way before exclaiming, "I know!"

They worked together to get the lift operating, which left an unwilling Piers with an embittered Jake, opposite Chris and Sherry. If Jake was one thing, though, it was all business when it came to eliminating the J'avo and soon the four of them were reunited again.

The brief argument he'd had with Jake on their lift dismissed, Piers was facing Neo-Umbrella's newest threat with his gun drawn and his captain back at his side.

* * *

Watching Chris strip and clean his Nine-Oh-Nine pistol had become something of a fascination for Piers, when he could afford to glance his captain's way without him noticing. Maybe it was the contrast - strong, calloused hands that could snap the neck of a J'avo in one fluid motion sliding smoothly across black metal – or maybe it was the unvoiced elation he felt every time he got to see Chris working under such methodical concentration.

Either way, he found himself regarding his captain closely anytime they were tending to their weapons in the same room. Piers would have to be careful to look busy; often times, he'd pick up a piece of his anti-material rifle just in time, wiping off any remaining filth and smiling at something Chris said. It wasn't really a problem until he began scrutinizing the way Chris held his weapon at all times.

Piers observed the way he gripped it tight on the battlefield, how it was tucked snug against his side when it wasn't in use, and the gentle, but precise attention it received when it was being tended to. It earned Chris' appreciation, was a trusted and valued companion that he always wanted by his side, closer than any human could ever be.

The worst thing about it all was probably when Piers began to realize that he was slowly but surely becoming jealous of an inanimate object and then, hurriedly, refused to accept that as the truth.

He had to draw the line somewhere.

* * *

Piers had been in the BSAA long enough to know what he was up against when it came to combating bioterrorism. Dangerous was an understatement and there was almost always a higher chance of not making it through a mission alive and these things he had accepted when he'd agreed to join his captain those few years back.

He'd been lucky to make it through as many assignments as he did unscathed – a broken bone or two became nothing out of the ordinary. He was somewhat jaded by it all, thought that nothing that bad could happen to him despite the realism of the situation, despite fellow soldiers dying at his side every single time.

The reality hit hard after one particular run-in with the J'avo that resulted in a novice slip-up and the most excruciating pain he'd ever felt in his entire life. He doesn't remember all of it, just explosives going off too close by, being thrown back by the blast, hitting something as hard as concrete, a weight equally as heavy crushing his right side. His vision swam in and out and his gun was gone, but that didn't matter because he couldn't even move to pick it up.

The gargle of J'avo jargon was the first sound to reach his nearly deafened ears, which gave him no comfort. Dust and smoke surrounded him, but it was easy to make out the grotesque shapes of the abominations because what remained of them was nothing human. The blow to his head stunted his usually apt thought process, but he understood enough to know that he needed to move before those shapes reached him.

Piers attempted to shift his arm, but the sharp pinpricks of pain that stretched its length caused him to cry out, involuntarily giving up his position. He turned his head, saw the gash, the shards of glass, and the seeping blood. The footfalls grew closer and so did the indistinct growls, nothing human about them – his comrades were nowhere near.

His head fell back against the stone support behind and he tried once to call out, but the blood in his mouth trickled down his lips and he had the sudden realization that he could barely breathe. So he did it, he admitted defeat and he thought about things like people did when facing death, but mostly he thought of Chris and if he was alright.

The J'avo, if they did notice him, were nearly upon him when he screwed his eyes shut and wished, most of all, that if this was going to happen then just make it quick. He'd seen too many ugly deaths, but asking for a normal one in this line of work was pointless.

It was the fatigue and the fear that had him almost missing the sound of multiple weapons being discharged in front of him. What stirred him were the choked cries of the fallen J'avo and his captain's voice rising above them all, calling out to him.

"Piers!" He thought he was imagining it - Chris shouting his name, the smoking clearing and revealing half of their unit, Chris kneeling down in front of him and holding his face and _hang on, Piers, just hang on._

His captain tried in vain to keep him awake, but Piers was nearly out by the time they got there and could barely open his eyes. He smiled up at Chris, weak and lopsided, and managed to whisper one thing before he blacked out.

_Captain._

* * *

The pain had dulled down considerably by the time Piers opened his eyes again, his vision blurring and then focusing on a grimy, dimly-lit ceiling above. The awareness that he was alive came belatedly to him, but when it did he was immediately sitting up, gasping when he noted that the sting of his injuries had not completely subsided.

"You should lie back down," Someone told him while he was examining the bandages around his chest, the make-shift sling his arm and shoulder were in. Under normal circumstances, Piers would do exactly what he was told to do by his captain, but turning to find Chris Redfield sitting in a chair opposite him really only elicited a weary grin. "We won't be able to get you completely treated until a chopper comes, you need to rest."

"Was it that bad?" Piers asked, though he recalled vaguely how he felt just before rescue came, however long ago that was. Hell on Earth would not have been an exaggeration. "What's the damage?"

Piers' voice trailed off the moment he saw the expression on Chris' face. The fear and the worry was there and gone, replaced with immense relief as Chris stood to his feet and made his way over.

"How're you feeling?" Piers followed his captain's gaze to the bandages on his chest and decided the situation merited the truth.

"I still feel like shit… sir." If he were being honest with himself, every inch of him was sore and he had a splitting headache, but he was alive. They had medics on their team, so he'd probably been administered the heaviest dose of pain meds they had available. "I'll survive."

Chris' eyes were on him when he glanced back up, a stare so unabashedly at ease that Piers found he could only look away, an uncomfortable heat settling in his cheeks. He felt Chris' eyes leave him after a moment and chanced lifting his head once more. His captain was at a far table, sifting through some medical supplies.

"The cut on your forehead…" He explained when he approached once more, leaning forward to gently peel away a soiled bandage and reapply a fresh one. "It's not much, but it's all we can do for now."

Piers hadn't even realized that he'd closed his eyes, visibly assuaged by the brush of cool calloused fingertips along his skin, until Chris was calling his name.

"I'm still here, Captain." He answered, not bothering to open his eyes. He was exhausted and thought maybe Chris would be satisfied by that much. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Piers could sense the relieved smile adorning his captain's lips when he spoke next, "That's good to hear, soldier."


End file.
